CXLI

    In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note； But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune¹ delighted； Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone², Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone： But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade³ one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unsway'd the likeness⁴ of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal⁵ wretch⁶ to be： Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain.